


Dies Irae

by Yuripaws



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Religious, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, But I tried not to make it seem that way, Church Sex, Churches & Cathedrals, Clergy kink, Clergymen, Demon Katsuki Yuuri, Demons, God is watching so put on a show babes, I am not responsible for any gaping chasms that open beneath you to swallow you into hell btw, M/M, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Power Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, Priest Kink, Priests, Public Sex, Religion, Religion Kink, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sort of tagging possible dubcon due to the nature of an incubus, Succubi & Incubi, Tail Sex, Top Katsuki Yuuri, Top Victor Nikiforov, Viktor Suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-16 23:48:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11839569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuripaws/pseuds/Yuripaws
Summary: Bishop Nikiforov tries to walk the path of righteousness, but one day finds that the road to Hell is far more tempting.Clergy/Demon AU.





	Dies Irae

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all I'm Back on my Bullshit with these oneshots omfg 
> 
> Shout out to the YOI Big Bang discord server for, uh, tainting my unblemished and pure soul. : )
> 
> This is some self indulgent shit with a vague time period and possibly dubious morals and definite religious inaccuracies but uh here we go??

The soft sounds of the choir fade to background noise, the light of the setting sun playing through stained glass windows and falling upon the gilded engravings and stony faces of saints.

Sunday. The Holy day.

It's been a long and exhausting evening Mass, but there's no rest for the wicked, and so there's no rest for The Most Reverend Bishop Viktor Nikiforov.

He watches the devoted file out of the cathedral's main chapel, a pent-up sigh of relief building in his chest. But he represses it. He mustn't let anyone see how tired he is. He has to remain strong for the ones who cannot.

That same sigh nearly comes again as he's met with countless priests, approaching him with endless questions, and a handful of those who have stayed behind to ask for his blessings.

No, no rest for the wicked.

No rest from his thoughts, either.

The cathedral is now closed to visitors, and Viktor makes his way down the quiet halls, passing the occasional priest or nun finishing their duties. The path he treads is so familiar that he can nearly close his eyes and let it call to him. Let it lead him.

When he enters the private oratory, it's just as he'd remembered it. Not that he's ever away long enough to forget.

A small room -- relatively so, compared to the extravagance of the rest of the cathedral, but no less opulent. The light from the lanterns makes the walls and their paintings and carvings look nearly alive, dancing depictions of frolicking angels and devout followers.

Devout.

Viktor lets the doors fall shut with a heavy thud that reverberates around the chamber, but he doesn't move. Instead, he eyes the altar at the far end of the room almost warily. There's always some small part of him that's reluctant, although he isn't quite sure why. At least, this is what he tries to convince himself of. But no, he mustn't dwell on these thoughts. Not tonight.

His feet lead him once more, taking him down the short aisle, and the plush red carpet seems to whisper underneath his feet as he approaches the altar. He feels a shiver run through him, but tells himself that it's nothing. Only his mind trying to trick him, only his racing thoughts trying to divert his mission with distractions.

What he wouldn't give for a distraction.

He hears it again.

Before the altar, he pauses, having just begun his kneeling and praying. He tries to listen, turning away from the watchful saints and glancing behind him. But there's nothing.

Focus, he tells himself firmly. Ignore the sound of feet dragging on stone floors. Ignore the sound of nails scrabbling against walls. Is that what he's hearing? It must be the last of the priests. No one stays in the cathedral late. Only Viktor. He stays, because he must. He must pray. Once he leaves, once he's within the walls of a house that isn't God's, the thoughts come. And so he stays.

Focus, he thinks again.

He can't. He clutches the cross dangling around his neck, fingers wrapping around the familiar feel of gold and rubies, and mutters a quick prayer to ward himself. Something doesn't feel quite right. Something is wrong.

Someone is here, he registers too late, though when he glances at the doors of the oratory, they're still shut, and he doesn't hear a single sound. No knocking. No attempts to enter. He stands cautiously, approaching as slowly as he can. He feels a bit foolish, almost tip-toeing towards the doors as if he were a frightened child or a superstitious crone. Surely the noises are insignificant. Surely he'll throw wide the doors to find nothing but the empty hall. So why is this feeling of unease weighing heavy on him?

He opens the doors a bit quicker than he'd like to admit, and what he finds on the other side leaves him momentarily stunned.

A young man stands in the outer chamber, his eyes almost as wide with shock as Viktor's own.

He can't be much younger than I am, Viktor thinks, and this sudden thought gives him pause. The man only looks younger because the lost look on his face makes him seem almost childlike. He looks almost terrified, in fact.

In any case, Viktor's certain he's never seen this man before. Of course, the many priests, deacons, nuns, and so on within the cathedral are far more numerous than he can even imagine, despite being the bishop presiding over it. But Viktor feels as though this man is distinctly out of place here, standing before him and trembling in his cassock. A priest, then? Viktor eyes him suspiciously, then realizes that he ought to say something.

"Father," he says warily, and the dazed way in which the man responds puts him on edge. "How may I help you?"

"Your Grace," the man breathes, eyes widening further. "I'm afraid I have grave news -- I, please, i-if you will allow me t-to --"

The man cuts himself off, becoming a stuttering mess, and Viktor has to repress another long sigh. 

"Come in."

The man enters, and the doors shut behind him with a creak that's almost ominous. Viktor ignores it. He gestures graciously at one of the pews, and the man sinks onto it immediately, still shaking. Viktor looks him up and down for a moment before speaking.

"You aren't really a priest, are you?"

The man starts guiltily, his dark eyes darting away nervously, and Viktor tries very hard to be patient. Who is this man, and what does he want? At this time?

"I... I'm sorry, Your Grace, I'm afraid not." He looks up suddenly, his eyes blazing behind his large crooked glasses, and Viktor is taken aback at his intensity. "But I had to. I had to sneak in after hours. I had to see you."

Me? Viktor thinks, so unnerved that it only barely registers that the idea that a man can simply throw on vestments and be admitted into the church without question is so ridiculous that it can't possibly actually work. Who is this man? Viktor can't seem to think straight. The man's eyes are too bright in the lamplight. Dark and bright, like his sleek raven hair. Like the thick lashes Viktor can see flutter at him nervously. So soft and nervous, the face of the man sitting before him. Focus, Viktor tells himself.

"Why? And why after hours?"

The man leans forward, and Viktor hadn't thought it possible for his eyes to widen any further until now. His lips -- so soft-looking, Viktor notices inexplicably -- tremble along with his voice.

" _Demons,_ " he whispers.

Viktor stares at him for some length.

"Demons," he repeats dryly, his patience finally tested. This must be some sort of joke. "And is this a game to you --"

"I mean it!" The man is on his feet now, agitated and restless, and for a moment Viktor questions his sanity. He ought to call the proper authorities. This man could be dangerous. He certainly seems so as he takes a hesitant step towards him, his entire body shaking. "I swear on my life, Your Grace, please. I need your guidance. I need your power."

The man is much closer than he ought to be, and Viktor wishes he could tell which warm shade of brown his eyes are, but they flicker wildly in the light. They're steady on him, begging him. Begging him for what?

His thoughts seem to have been read.

"An exorcism."

A stunned silence.

"You do realize," Viktor begins, a bit too loudly, as though someone were watching and judging his actions, "that the Cathedral of Saint --"

"Does not acknowledge unholy beings and therefore does not perform exorcisms," the man cuts him off knowingly. "Yes. But  _you_  do. Rather, you used to. But you still can, can't you, Your Grace?"

Viktor tries not to cringe. The day he'd chosen a new faith, the sins of his past had been cleansed. The faith had chosen him, as he always said whenever prying questions were sent his way. He's a clean slate, he thinks, furious at this stranger's implications. Who is this man to bring up such things? How does he know?

And how is he so close? So very close. Viktor is lost in eyes that gleam. So innocent. So they seem.

"Your Grace," the man whispers, and his voice seems to echo in Viktor's skull. "Please. Take me to the high altar."

Viktor isn't sure why he obeys.

They set off down the halls, through the chambers towards the chapels, and Viktor's heart pounds harder with every step. It's late, very late -- most of the clergy ought to have left already. The priests back to their homes, the nuns to their convent. But his nerves are still unsteady as he unlocks and enters the main chapel, making sure the doors are carefully shut behind them. Calm yourself, he thinks, taking a deep breath and making his way down the aisle. There shouldn't be anybody here in the cathedral.

The only people here, he realizes, suddenly before the high altar, are him and this man.

The man turns to face him now, and in the low light of the many chandeliers above, Viktor sees that his smile is not-quite sweet, his eyes not-quite warm.

No. The only person here is Viktor.

"You --" Viktor gasps, but the man steps forward quickly, pressing into him. He's shorter and much smaller, and he fits quite nicely against Viktor's broad chest. The eyes that look up at him are coy, mischievous, entirely unlike the ones widened with fear back in the oratory.

"Your Grace," the man says softly, "is something wrong?"

Yes, Viktor's mind screams frantically, everything is wrong,  _you're_  wrong,  _this is wrong._

But he finds that he can't speak. He can't move. All he can do is stare, dumbfounded as the man's face looms ever closer. He can feel sweet breath against his lips now, and his own breathing quickens as a hand slowly raises to caress his cheek. The man's own are flushed a deep red, so very red, like the sparks within his eyes.  _Red._

" _Demon,_ " Viktor whispers, and his shout for help is swallowed by soft and tender lips.

Surprisingly soft, yes, Viktor thinks, stunned into silence. Soft and slick, sliding hotly against his mouth, and Viktor feels a groan building in his chest that he can't suppress no matter how hard he tries. A muffled sound of pleasure vibrates against his lips as he moves them in return, coming from the man --  _the demon's_  -- throat, and something dark and dangerous seems to slowly creep its way down Viktor's spine. He feels something unnamed unfurl within him, deep within, uncurling from its long sleep and stretching throughout his body, his veins,  _his lips,_ the demon's lips, yes, so sweet and so tempting, so ripe and delicate under Viktor's teeth as he bites them. 

The demon pulls away, his eyes alight with joy. "Why, Your Grace! Such behavior, and from such a devout man of God --"

"Don't you dare speak His name," Viktor says, his voice much lower and much more hoarse than he'd expected it to be. The demon looks nearly coy now, his eyes darting away respectfully, but Viktor sees the sinuous curve of his body, feels it pressing closer as his arms make their way about his neck. The hair there raises at the feel of thick nails scraping against the skin. Claws, Viktor realizes, frantically trying to remember if this man had possessed claws when they'd first met. 

No, he hadn't, of course he hadn't -- and his teeth hadn't been quite so sharp. The eyes that raise once more to meet his hadn't been such a frightful shade of red, either, suddenly lacking the glasses that had hid their demonic sheen. And have his ears always been pointed just so? No, of course not. Viktor's jaw seems to lock, preventing another building scream, at the sight of curling horns, twin pieces of curved and hard onyx that are nearly lost among the demon's shining and slicked back hair. No. This is impossible.

At least, it should have been. It should have been impossible for the demon's skin to feel so good against his own. It should have been impossible for his lips to feel so hot where they press into his neck, kissing past his collar. It should have been impossible for him to be so light, so easy to lift and back into the high altar. All these things should have been impossible, but Viktor can't help but wonder if, through God, all things are possible.

Don't think of that, he tells himself, desperately trying not to look at any of the saints watching. Don't think of anything. Don't think.

"Don't," the demon whispers into his ear softly, drawing back and cupping his face. "Don't think of anyone but me. Never take your eyes off of me, Viktor."

"Never," Viktor says shakily, drawing him in for another kiss.

So good. How can anything in this world feel this good? _Too_ good, he thinks as he feels his body respond to the skilled hand that slips lower, lower, sliding against his thigh and squeezing lightly. Viktor nearly whimpers at the feel of heated fingers, claws mercifully retracted, pressed to thick fabric. He wants to feel them pressed against something else. The demon seems to read his thoughts, and that hand snakes so stealthily into his trousers that Viktor yelps into his mouth, startling the both of them. But the demon recovers quickly, his smile as sweet as ever as he draws back and licks his lips soundly.

"Are you a virgin, Your Grace?"

Viktor can only groan, body twitching as the demon's hand begins to rub him slowly. Such long and graceful fingers. They wrap around his cock so perfectly that Viktor nearly weeps. He groans again when the demon presses his lips to his ear, breathing heavily, his excitement mounting.

"Well?"

"No," Viktor grunts, trying hard to focus on forming words at all, because those teasing fingers have started stroking him lightly. He fights not to buck wildly into them, gritting his teeth and wondering if he ought to say a prayer. He may not be a virgin, but his admittance into the faith had cost him some of the many pleasures he had so wretchedly indulged in during his former life. And although it hadn't been strictly necessary, Viktor took it upon himself to restrict himself from any of his past vices. A clean slate. A new beginning.

A hand, a hand so warm that Viktor forgets the past, the present, the future, anything involving time at all, because it stands still as that hand moves faster, pumping a cock so hard and throbbing that Viktor's amazed he hasn't burst yet. He feels himself on the brink, teetering dangerously over the edge, but the demon slows now, withdrawing his hand and giving him a rather chastising look.

"So soon?"

"No," Viktor croaks, pressing him harder into the altar. He wants to feel his touch again. He's gone mad, he's realized. He's not sure if he cares anymore. The demon's face is flushed so prettily, his eyes a deep crimson, heavily lidded and glazed in a fiery lust, and Viktor suddenly wants to see that face twisted in ecstasy. He wants this demon writhing beneath him, giving in to him, begging him for more. What hell has come over him, and why doesn't he want it to stop?

Viktor's hands are at the demon's throat in the blink of an eye, shaking as they undo his collar, the buttons of his cassock, and nearly ripping the silky black shirt that had been so neatly tucked into his trousers. He lifts that shirt now, dropping to his knees to kiss down the demon's chest, down his stomach, and he pauses now, mouth hovering above the hard bulge between his legs, hidden under dark fabric. Viktor looks up at him, at this unholy being he's kneeling before so pathetically, and the gleam of his red eyes makes him weak, makes him want to bend to his every whim. Any trace of hesitation leaves his mind as the demon arches back slightly, his legs spreading wide so that Viktor's head fits so easily between them when it dips forward to press against skin, exposed skin, skin revealed as Viktor yanks down the offending clothing with a strength he's never known. Soft skin that hardens further, aching and hot, and the demon cries out so very sweetly as Viktor takes his cock into his mouth.

Hellfire fills his throat as he pushes forward, taking all of him, lips tightening as he sucks hard, fingers grabbing and pinching at the demon's trembling thighs. He withdraws slowly, letting his tongue work its way back up to the very head, and his mouth is so cold now, so lonely without that heat. He fills it once more, delighting in the sound of the demon's gasping, his breathy moans hitching as Viktor's lips move against him relentlessly, faster and faster, and his hands are gripping him so firmly, digging into his skin so deeply that he wonders if demons bleed.

Viktor yanks the demon's trousers down and off blindly and frantically, leaving him bare below the waist, and as his hands move back around to grip his behind, he freezes, nearly gagging as he withdraws. He's suddenly grasping something long and twitching.

_A tail._

The demon has a tail. Something about it is so very mesmerizing. The way it swishes almost impatiently as the demon stares down at him, panting hard. He says nothing, but his tail slithers towards him, the thick and pointed tip grazing his lips. Viktor takes it into his mouth without thinking, and the demon whimpers loudly, gripping the marble altar hard to keep from slipping off as his hips jerk seemingly involuntarily.

" _Oh,_ " he breathes, his voice trembling as he watches Viktor's tongue flick out against the tip of his tail. "Oh, Your Grace, you aren't very holy at all, are you?"

Viktor's only response is to shoot to his feet, seizing the demon's face and devouring his lips with an unrestrained hunger. No, he certainly doesn't feel very holy. He _feels_ , and that's enough. He feels the demon melt helplessly beneath him, and Viktor presses him back down against the altar, pushing him onto his back and sliding himself between his legs. He freezes, panting and staring down at him.

The demon's dark hair is wild about him, as slick with sweat as his reddened face, his lean chest and stomach, his twitching cock, his shaking thighs. He parts them wider for him, his eyes coy but his entire body inviting. _Begging._  

Viktor's eyes never leave two pits of fire, two portals to Hell and back as his hands lower to undo his trousers, slowly drawing out his cock. Only then do the two of them break eye contact, because the demon stares at his cock greedily, licking his lips and nearly drooling. Those lips start to drip as Viktor mounts him, gripping his waist with one hand and guiding himself with the other. Viktor's mind has gone blank, only the need and pure desire raging through him, no thoughts, only actions. Only this sin. That same sin that looks back up at him now, shivering with anticipation.

"Give it to me," he says, his tone hushed and revered, " _please._ "

Viktor isn't sure if he groans or sobs as he slides into him, because the unexpectedly wet heat that swallows him nearly makes him incoherent. The demon had given way so easily, sucking him in and seeming to sap him of his strength instantly. Viktor's knees weaken, and he presses closer to the altar, willing himself not to collapse. The demon is making a low sound in his throat, long and almost crooning, urging him forward, deeper, and Viktor obeys, buried in him completely now and shaking so hard that he has to pause, head bent low as he tries to catch his breath.

" _God,_ " he chokes as the demon constricts around him, and sly laughter greets him from below.

"Blasphemy," the demon purrs, and he may have gone on to tease him further had it not been for Viktor's sudden thrust. It sends the demon's head cracking back against the altar, his voice singing out as Viktor moves inside of him. 

"Be quiet," Viktor hisses, panicking at the cries echoing throughout the chapel. But he increases his pace, drawing forth a sound that sends heat shivering down his spine, and he soon finds that he no longer cares. He'll have this demon screaming his name, and damn anyone who tries to stop him.

And no one will stop him -- of that, he is sure. God Himself would have to descend to tear him away from this guilty pleasure, this shameless pleasure, this contradictory and senseless feeling filling him, wracking his body violently as he thrusts faster, harder, panting and growling so viciously that for a moment he wonders if he himself may be the demon.

It must be so, because the being underneath him looks so innocent, so precious, a sweet and virginal thing being freshly deflowered. His clawed hands cover his mouth shyly, though they do nothing to muffle his screaming as Viktor drives into him at a speed that's dizzying. Viktor reaches for his cock now, gripping it perhaps a bit too roughly, but the demon arcs his back and howls when Viktor starts to pump him in time with his thrusts. The sight is as intoxicating as any wine Viktor had ever taken into himself.

He can feel the end come rushing to meet him, that surge of pleasure rising uncontrollably over the edge, and the sound he makes is lost between tender lips and a teasing tongue. A tongue that parts, Viktor thinks in alarm. A forked tongue sliding against his own, fueling a fire that comes in bursts and jerks as he's emptied, drained and weakened and shaking so hard that he nearly slips to the ground as he withdraws his burning cock. It hurts, he realizes belatedly. It hurts, but the pain is _thrilling._

The demon is panting hard, his stomach splattered in a sizzling and pearly white mess. Viktor releases his cock a bit reluctantly, but not before squeezing it lightly and watching it drip its last drops. This draws a soft gasp out of the demon, his eyes fluttering open. They're clouded in absolute bliss, and his tone is of quiet awe as he speaks.

" _Wow,_ " he breathes. "I did it."

Viktor frowns, puzzled. "Did what?"

The demon looks a bit startled, then a bit embarrassed, but he soon recovers. Viktor is met with the usual coy smile.

"If you need me to explain it, then perhaps you were a virgin after all, Your Grace."

Viktor gapes at him, watching him slip neatly off the altar and onto his feet. His clothes seem to be back on and in perfect order at the blink of an eye. He's no longer stained and sweaty, and there are no claws, fangs, horns, odd ears or twitching tails to be found. He straightens his collar and pushes his glasses further up his nose, smiling politely at him.

"Thank you for your time, You Grace. Until we meet again."

He doesn't disappear in a puff of smoke and sulfur. He doesn't descend into fire and brimstone. He simply turns and walks away. The sound of his footsteps echoes throughout the chapel, somehow louder than the moans that had been doing so not even five minutes prior. Viktor stares after him as he goes, feeling colder and lonelier by the second. It's darker, he realizes. The absence of light. The absence of this demon.

The absence of God, he tells himself, straightening his clothing and hurrying away, carefully avoiding the chiseled faces of saints.

*

The lamp lights flicker at his approach, and he walks in shadows as he slips through cracks and slits of gates, of walls, and finally he's here, standing in the dark hall before a familiar set of doors. His nose twitches nervously. He can smell him. He can smell his cologne, his sweat, his human musk. His hands are twitching now.

This one had been his first. And he had nearly blown his cover several times, he's sure of it. But despite his bumbling attempts at seduction, he'd gotten what he'd wanted. What he'd needed. Something powerful, something that should have sated him for weeks. Possibly months. Corrupting a man of such ranking among the Holy was an honor, a feast surely meant for higher and more skillful demons.

Something had been odd. The man hadn't seemed very reluctant to be tainted. Not that he had been unblemished, of course -- a dark past, a man attempting to begin anew. A classic tale. It made men like him ripe for the picking. Pure until they got a taste of the thing they had so sorely and secretly been missing all along.

Eros remembers how strong the man had been as he'd grabbed him, stripping him and taking him with a force that had left him weak. Except, of course, it hadn't done so at all. It had made Eros so much more stronger. The deep and hungry kisses, the starved touches, the thrust of his hips and the power that had filled him so completely. They'd given him an energy that had been indescribable. Euphoric. He feels it course throughout him now, pounding underneath his skin as he stands before the large oak doors. 

Waiting.

For what?

For himself to do something.

He grits his teeth and knocks, realizing far too late that he hasn't come up with any sort of excuse as to why he's here. The need to play at being human is no longer necessary, although he's once again dressed himself in the guise of a priest. He's even materialized glasses, hoping they'd make him appear more innocent. But what sort of act would he put on when the bishop answers?

 _If_ he answers, Eros thinks, knocking again. Silence. He frowns, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Yes, his scent is here. But, of course, this is his den. Where he resides often, where his soul is laid bare before saints to be cleansed. It would smell strongly of him, no matter what. Eros scents the air cautiously, letting his senses take him down the hallway. Yes, Viktor's scent is leading him this way. Towards the main chapel.

It's far too late for the man to have any business being before the high altar, Eros thinks as he pads quietly towards the large doors. The man would be in the cathedral, yes, doing Hell knows what sort of boring things humans do in their private chambers of worship. So why is he elsewhere?

Eros silently works to cast wards, to reach out and secure himself from any intruders. His senses aren't as keen in this place, his powers weakened under His roof, but it had been enough for him to have kept any wandering eyes and ears at bay the last time he'd been here. He'd made sure every human in the vicinity had suddenly remembered pressing matters elsewhere. If he's lucky, they'd once again be deaf to his cries tonight.

Yes, he'd make certain that not a single soul would hear them tonight.

Viktor's scent grows stronger as Eros enters the chapel. He slinks inside silently and makes his way down the aisle, casting his eyes down on instinct as he goes, unwilling and not quite able to meet the gazes of saints. To Hell with them, he thinks as he glances back up and catches sight of his target.

He's standing before the high altar, his back turned, his head bowed seemingly in devout prayer. How curious. Eros comes stalking up behind him, light on his feet and cat-silent, willing his heart to stop pounding so fast. Viktor's scent is growing more intoxicating, more tempting, and it's everything within his power not to simply seize him and pull him close.

"Hello, again," Eros whispers into his ear, and Viktor starts in a way that suggests that he's surprised, but not entirely. In fact, his entire demeanor suggests this sentiment as he turns to face him now.

Eros feels his body start to tingle as the man's face comes into the light of burning candles. Such a strikingly handsome face. Strong, yet so soft, so pretty, long lashes framing bright blue eyes, silver hair sweeping across his brow. Hair that's very soft, Eros remembers, the memory of it between his claws strong in his mind. His fingers flex involuntarily as he watches the man watch him.

There's a short silence. Eros tries not to fidget.

"Well," Viktor says finally, his voice soft but steady. "We meet again. As you said."

"You were expecting me?"

Viktor surprises him with a small smile. "It's been exactly one week. Sunday. The Holy day. Demons are rather predictable, aren't they?"

Eros curses himself for a fool, but recovers quickly. He can feel desire start to course through his body, filling him with the confidence he needs to get what he wants. He cocks his head and smiles back, letting his eyes wander freely up and down the bishop's body. He very much wants to see what's underneath his vestments, and Viktor seems to realize this. His composure starts to falter under Eros' frank stare, and this gives him the extra boost of courage to make his next move.

He's pressed against him once more, looking up through thick lashes at a face now flushed and flustered. Good. He stretches up slowly, ever so slowly, and when his lips are mere inches from Viktor's own, he stops. He can feel the thrum of anticipation in the man's body, and he wants to draw it out. To delay it. To deny it. It makes the release so much more powerful. And so he hovers patiently, waiting for Viktor to crack. He's close. So close.

Viktor leans closer, and their lips brush just the slightest bit as he speaks.

"Not here."

Eros blinks at him.

"Follow me."

Viktor leads him down the steps of the high altar, down underneath the raised dais. The wrought-iron gates loom over the pair of them, the lanterns hanging from them casting odd shadows. Eros' curiosity is piqued immediately as they descend towards them, and he watches as Viktor effortlessly unlocks and withdraws the heavy chains. The air seems to shimmer as they pass, and Eros shivers, drawing nearer to Viktor as they move into a large chamber. This gets a nervous twitch out of the man, and Eros is very much pleased at this. He presses even closer, whispering softly.

"Your Grace. Are we in the crypt?"

Even in the low lighting, Eros can see his mouth set in a hard line. "Yes."

"Ah. I see." Eros' eyes lower, his tone frightened. "As I'd feared. I can feel such a strong power. I'm not welcome here. But thankfully, I have you to protect me."

Viktor shoots him a strange look, his face becoming flushed, and Eros immediately feels a sort of guilt. While he hadn't exactly been lying about the unease this place makes him feel, he's far less frightened than he had sounded, and most definitely just trying to get a rise out of the man. It seems to be working.

As they move towards the center of the dim chamber, Eros marvels at the plush velvet curtains lining the stony walls, the dozens of candles playing their light across the faces of the saints placed between the gaps. The low ceiling feels almost crushing, and as Eros eyes the large marble tomb raised behind the small altar, he suddenly knows what it might feel like to be encased in stone, locked away underground for all time. It makes him shudder, and Viktor shoots him another look.

"Are you really so frightened, demon?"

Eros blinks, turning to him as a small realization dawns on him.

"You don't know my name, do you?"

He bites his tongue immediately, watching the man eye him with interest. No, of course he doesn't. He isn't supposed to. A demon does not give out their name so freely.

"Well," the bishop says rather dryly, "you seem to know mine. Come on, then. Let's have it."

Eros bristles a bit at this. Such impudence. But he suddenly feels very small under the man's straightforward gaze.

"You may call me Eros," he says a bit reluctantly.

"Eros," Viktor says slowly, rolling it in his mouth in a way so sensual that Eros' reluctance melts away at once. He feels that dark power come over him, overcoming the oppressive atmosphere of the crypt. Yes, he's here for a reason. He mustn't forget.

Eros presses into him, their bodies melding together as one, and Viktor shows little to no resistance as Eros snakes his arms up around his neck. His nails rake through his short silver hair, and it's just as soft as he had remembered. He can hear the man's breathing quicken, and the desire already starting to course through him builds up Eros' confidence further. The confidence he needs to be coy, to be teasing. To drive this man mad.

"And why did you bring a lowly demon such as myself into a place so sacred, Your Grace? What do you plan to do to me here?"

He cocks his head with a sweet smile, very pleased to see the immediate effect. Viktor's hands slide forward to grip his waist, large and strong as they hold him closer. Yes, Eros thinks almost frantically, give in to me. Come into me.  _Viktor._

"I --" Viktor starts, then pauses, looking uncertain. This throws off Eros' composure just a bit, and he watches in alarm as Viktor's hand twitches towards the pocket of his robes.

Eros beats his hesitant hand to it, reaching deep within and drawing out a glass vial. He steps back, holding it to the light, and Viktor watches him, frozen on the spot and wide-eyed.

"Holy water," Eros says softly, rolling the vial between his fingers and feeling the power burning just behind the surface of the glass. "I see."

"It's not -- that is, I --" Viktor continues to stammer as Eros gently places the vial on the altar, giving it one last cursory glance before moving back into Viktor's arms. He tries hard to contain his glee as they raise to wrap around him without apparent thought. He looks up at Viktor, carefully masking his face into something mournful.

"Your Grace," he says in a strained whisper, "had you meant to exorcise me? To kill me?"

Viktor falls silent, though his lips tremble as though he means to speak. The hands around Eros' waist tighten suddenly, and the lips pressed against his own are just as sudden. Eros opens himself to them, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Viktor's hair, yanking him closer as they kiss, deepening it until they're both left nearly breathless. The desperation wracking the bishop's body is fierce tonight, and Eros is thrilled at the thought of just how much power he's about to receive when this is over.

Viktor pulls away, lips trailing down Eros' neck, sucking and biting, and Eros moans softly, flexing his fingers and letting claws form. He drags them down Viktor's scalp, careful not to slice him but making sure to mark him down to his neck. Viktor shudders hard, gasping into his ear.

"Damnable creature," he mutters, and Eros can't help but laugh.

"Mmm, perhaps you ought to punish me. Show me the true power of The Lo --"

He yelps as he's shoved past the altar and pinned hard against the stone pillar of the tomb, Viktor's body arcing into him, straining to push closer despite leaving no space between them. His lips are on his again, drinking him just as surely as Eros is drinking his energy, his lust, the power coming off of him in broiling waves that are enough to leave even a demon such as himself weak. A power he absorbs, but it still makes him weak. Impossible, he thinks faintly as Viktor starts to tug off his clothing. How can this man make him feel so weak?

Eros will show him the true power of a demon. He cups his face, kissing him fiercely, his lips drawing out his tongue and sucking tight, his sharp teeth digging into it, and Viktor lets out a strangled cry into his mouth. His grip on his waist seems to weaken, and his knees nearly give way. Perfect. Eros drags him down, down onto the floor, onto the thick ceremonial carpet, pressing him onto his back and mounting him. He finally releases him, sitting up to straddle him and licking his lips in satisfaction at the sight of him breathless and disheveled beneath him.

His hands wander to Viktor's collar, tracing around it lightly before deciding that he'd like for it to stay on. In fact, he'd like for all of it to stay on. Mostly, he amends, unbuttoning his cassock and the crisp white shirt beneath it. His eyes wander down a chest so beautifully sculpted that Eros wonders why it isn't placed among the statues of saints, pristine and chiseled from flawless marble. He drags a claw lightly down to his abdomen, watching the strong muscle twitch beneath his touch. Perfection. A perfect specimen of human. Eros licks his lips again eagerly, his fingers trailing down to Viktor's trousers. Viktor's eyes never leave his face as he does so.

Viktor's hardness is evident through the fabric, and when it's removed, Eros has to stop himself from drooling at the sight of his cock springing forth. Such  _power._ He needs it.

But first, he thinks rather wickedly, he'd like to play with it.

His materialized clothing slips into nothingness so quickly that Viktor starts, eyes wide in awe. Those same eyes roam over Eros' now naked form, unable to stay in one place for very long as they wander, drinking him in fully. Eros feels a shiver run through him now as he closes his eyes, letting himself take his natural form. His ears tingle as they lengthen, and the horns that jut from his head curl slightly before hardening. His tail unfurls, twisting languidly, and this draws Viktor's attention immediately. He can't seem to look away from it as it slithers up his thigh.

When it wraps around his cock, Viktor gasps sharply, body tensing as it tightens and begins to stroke him up and down. Eros has to bite back his own gasp, his tail nearly ablaze. Sensitive flesh against sensitive flesh. The tender tip of his tail teases the head of Viktor's cock, and Viktor throws his head back and gasps louder, his hips starting to jerk in time with Eros' stroking.

But Eros slows now, watching in delight as the man grows frustrated. He grasps his thighs to stop him from trying to thrust his hips, smiling sweetly at him.

"Now, now, Your Grace. No need to be impatient. We have the entire night."

He can't tell if Viktor looks more terrified or aroused, but either way, his only answer is a low groan as Eros' tail picks up its pace again. It strokes him hard and fast suddenly, and when Viktor's breathing starts hitching, it slows. He can tell that the man is growing slowly mad, grinding his teeth and trying to move his hips once more. Eros plays at this for some time, starting and then stopping whenever Viktor's limit is approached. Far too soon, he thinks a bit sadly, watching the man's reddened face brighten further in frustration and desperation. It seems as though Eros will have to play with him a little while longer before truly claiming his essence. 

Eros starts to pump his own cock in time with his tail, and this seems to bring Viktor closer to the edge much faster, his body twitching hard. His hands clutch at his own robes clumsily, and Eros watches in some amusement before realizing that he's trying to scramble for something. His eyes narrow, arm shooting out to pin Viktor's as it reaches for his robes. What he snatches up infuriates him.

The holy water? Again? How? Had he grabbed it back up quickly from the altar while Eros was powerless in his arms? 

"Do you really think that this is enough to kill me?" Eros jeers, twisting the vial open. His tail is still at work, and Viktor squirms helplessly as he watches him.

Eros will put the fear of Hell into him. He tilts his head back at the same time as he tilts the vial towards him, and the water is liquid fire as it runs down his chest. It  _burns_. It feels like a blazing blade has run him through, tearing down to his stomach, lower, lower, and Eros jerks his hips, biting back a scream as it drizzles down onto his cock. It sizzles, curling and steaming, but the sensation only makes him grow harder. He drops the vial now, grasping himself instead, feeling his hands start to burn as well. The head of his cock is already dripping, and he focuses on drawing it out, thickening it and coating himself in it. His body works to produce more, and it mingles with the holy water stinging his skin, dribbling down onto the rug in a sleek slather.

Viktor is watching, eyes enormous, jaw slackened. It tightens as Eros mounts him once more, rubbing himself teasingly against his hole. It twitches, and it's nearly enough to send Eros into a frenzy. He leans forward, eyes never leaving his face as his tail uncurls from around him at last. Viktor makes a soft whimper of frustration, and Eros smiles. How precious, this human. He wants him very badly. Eros dips his head, catching Viktor's lips in a surprisingly gentle kiss. It's returned without hesitation, and the longing behind it makes Eros feel weak once more. He draws away to suck and nip at his neck, sharp fangs grazing his skin, trailing kisses to his ear. His lips hover, so close and yet so far, just like the cock hovering at the man's entrance. Waiting.

"Give it to me," Viktor begs hoarsely, and his groan is the sweetest Eros has heard so far as he pushes into him.

Viktor's head thumps back against the rug, his lip bloodied from the force of his biting as he tries not to scream. Eros enters him slowly, teasingly, stretching him inch by inch. He loves this pain, Eros realizes, watching the human wince, body twitching uncontrollably. He wants more. Eros would give it to him.

When he slides into him fully, he pauses, drinking in the sight of the man impaled on his cock. He withdraws just as slowly as he had entered, slipping back in again with less resistance, and when his hips rock back and forth, Viktor's body starts to rock with them. Viktor's hands shoot up to grab him, but Eros is much faster. He has them pinned in an instant, digging them into the soft rug with as much force as he can muster. Viktor nearly wails as Eros thrusts faster, starting to pound into him with a perfectly steady and unrelenting rhythm, and Eros is thrilled to see him break so easily. A human is no match for a demon's stamina, and Eros means to show him that tonight.

I mean to show him this every night, Eros thinks suddenly, face flushing as he looks down on Viktor's own. It's just as bright, the blood rushing to his cheeks, his beautiful blue eyes rolling back now, his face a mask of pleasure that borders on rapture as Eros drives into him harder.

"Scream for me," Eros whispers shakily, desperate for the man's obedience. Desperate for his power.

Viktor's stubborn groan is cut short as Eros surges forward, lifting his legs high and throwing them over his shoulder. He leans forward to bend him nearly in half, staring down into widened eyes, and then slowly bares his fangs, letting Viktor see them glisten in the firelight. He's struck with the strangest feeling that the sight excites Viktor more than it scares him.

Yes, he sees the excitement in his eyes, the dark hunger, the need to be taken. Eros pushes down on him harder, his claws digging into his wrists as he holds him steady. He begins to thrust into Viktor with a speed that's inhuman and unrestrained, and the screams that tear from Viktor's throat are worth the agonizing burning Eros still feels along his cock. He strikes a spot that makes the man convulse, howling at the relentless thrust of Eros' hips, and the sound is so delicious that Eros moans, jerking again and again, wanting to hear it ring throughout the chamber ceaselessly.

" _God!_ " Viktor cries out, tears molten in the light of the lanterns. "Please!"

Eros smirks and leans forward. "No. No God. Only me."

His tongue teases Viktor's lips open, splitting to caress them before slipping inside. He sputters as Viktor's teeth clamp down on it, muffling his screaming. The pain only drives Eros to ram him harder, and Viktor finally relents, throwing his head back and sobbing almost hysterically.

Eros feels a heat rise within him, higher and higher, bubbling to the surface, burning so brightly that his vision fades as he tips with a shout, spilling deep within the man crying beneath him. He withdraws, lifting his legs off of him and watching thick and steaming white drip out onto the lovely rug for only the briefest of moments. He isn't done with this man yet, and he won't let him rest until he is.

He mounts him once more, hovering above his neglected cock. It looks so painfully swollen, so red and so large, and Eros' excitement builds so high, feeling himself dripping, that he doesn't give himself very long before lowering himself onto it. The look of frustrated torture on Viktor's face had been beautiful, but the dazed look of sudden pleasure is even more so as Eros slides down the length of him completely, filling himself and settling onto him heavily. His claws dig into Viktor's shoulders now, watching the red marks form beneath them, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to raise the skin. Viktor is nearly vibrating, shaking hard and breathing fast, but Eros doesn't move. His impish instincts kick in as he smiles down at him so very innocently. He wants to play with Viktor.

His hands slide down his arms, tracing his skin lightly until his fingers finally wrap around Viktor's wrists. They squeeze hard, pinning them high above his head. Eros stretches languidly, arcing his back and moaning as he tightens himself around Viktor's cock. Viktor makes a soft whimpering sound as he does, squirming slightly.

"Hm?" Eros purrs, looking down at him with hooded eyes. "What was that?"

"Please," Viktor groans weakly, face flushed beautifully. All shame seems to have abandoned him as he begs, begs the demon to ride him. Quiet dignity lost in an even quieter room, the crypt silent beyond the sound of the bishop's panting.

"Viktor," Eros says softly, "I want to play a game. Will you play with me?"

Viktor's eyes widen, the haze over them lifting slightly as his senses slowly return. "What?" he asks faintly, frowning up at him. "What do you mean?"

"Play with me, Viktor," Eros repeats, squeezing both his cock and his wrists. Viktor hisses sharply, gritting his teeth and nodding helplessly.

Eros tilts his head in thought. What sort of game should they play? The tingling sensation still burning from his chest to his groin makes him yearn for a stronger pain. He wants to hurt. He wants to burn. What else can hurt a demon?

Eros releases Viktor's wrists, a hand trailing to his throat. The collar he'd left on is still so pristine and white, and the rubies encrusted into the gold crucifix on its chain below gleam blood-red in the light. Eros slowly reaches for it, fingers brushing the metal gingerly. It burns him, and he hisses, but he wraps it tight around his claws. It presses against the soft flesh of Viktor's neck nicely when those fingers close around his throat.

"Your voice," Eros says quietly. "It's entrancing. So deep. So sensual. The voice of God."

Viktor's eye twitches, but he says nothing, watching him with building apprehension.

"I want to hear it," Eros continues, burning fingers twitching against Viktor's burning skin. "So, tell me, Your Grace. Have you a favorite Passage? A hymn, perhaps? Recite it for me. I want to hear it."

Viktor stares at him in disbelief. "You want me to --  _ah!_ "

Eros' hips rise and fall without warning, a quick and small bounce that nonetheless has Viktor reeling, his eyes fluttering up to the heavens, his mouth working silently as a small shock seems to run through his body.

"Say it," Eros repeats. "Tell me your pretty little words, Your Grace. Preach to me."

Viktor groans loudly as Eros bounces again for emphasis. He tries to thrust his hips up, but Eros' hand tightens around his throat, almost hearing the sound of his own flesh sizzle against the crucifix. Eros lifts himself high, nearly withdrawing completely, only the very tip of Viktor inside of him.

"Damn you," Viktor sobs hoarsely, and Eros laughs.

"The more you speak, the more I'll give to you. Say it. Say your pretty human words."

Viktor takes a shuddering breath as Eros' grasp relents just the slightest bit. His throat vibrates against his hand as he speaks.

_"Dies iræ, dies illa --"_

Eros throws his head back and laughs again, though a groan of agony is mingled within it at the sudden and painful prickling of his skin. This  _man_ , he thinks, looking down at him wickedly.

"The day of wrath," he says gleefully over Viktor's low and rushed words, rewarding him by sliding back down his straining cock. "Are you so concerned for your immortal soul, Your Grace?"

Viktor is a gasping and trembling mess, his throat working beneath Eros' hand wildly as he tries to continue. He speaks a dead language, a language cursed by demons, but Eros hears it clearly within his own mind. It _burns_. He feels it rip through him, a righteous fire meant to strike fear within him. The fear of God. He laughs again.

" _Wondrous s-sound the trumpet flingeth; through earth's sepulchres it -- God!_ " Viktor's cry rings out through the crypt as Eros moves, riding him slowly and deliberately, watching him with glazed eyes.

"More," Eros breathes, starting to ride him faster as Viktor's words come out in a stuttering jumble.

" _Death i-is struck, and nature quaking; all creation is -- oh! -- awaking; to its Judge an answer m-making_ ," Viktor chokes out as best as he can with Eros' hand tightening around his throat. The cross digs further into his skin, and further into Eros' palm, burning him as strongly as the holy words that drip from Viktor's trembling lips like venom.

" _What shall I, frail man, be pleading?_ " Viktor sobs, much to Eros' amusement. He's pounding down onto him steadily now, sliding up and down in a sinuous way that seems to be driving Viktor mad. 

"Plead for mercy," Eros says, panting and shivering at the feeling of Viktor's cock sliding in and out of him so smoothly. Viktor continues to babble mindlessly, not seeming to hear Eros' taunting. No, that won't do. The man really ought to pay more attention to him.

Eros' tail, which had wrapped itself around one of Viktor's thighs, slowly uncurls, finding its way down, far down, past the pumping cock and deep between his legs. Eros gasps softly as the sensitive tip of his tail circles the slick rim of Viktor's hole, and the sensation makes Viktor gasp as well, coming to a shuddering stop in the middle of his next verse. Eros gives him a chastising look.

"I didn't give you permission to stop," he says sweetly, tail pressing against his entrance. The tip is just barely in, and Viktor starts to shake uncontrollably. His voice quavers wildly as Eros' tail pushes into him slowly, but he doesn't stop. For every line, Eros pushes in further. Just the slightest bit. He looks down at Viktor's heaving body, wondering how much it can take. While Eros' tail isn't quite as thick as his cock, it's certainly a lot longer. He buries it deep within, perhaps halfway, before the man comes to another sobbing halt.

" _Guilty, now I p-p-pour my moaning; all my shame w-with,_ " he attempts frantically as Eros' tail slides out of him. He tries to jerk his hips, but Eros weighs heavy on him, slowing his own riding until the man understands that he must obey him to get what he wants. He rewards him when he continues dutifully, taking a small moment to take his cock slowly, truly savor every thrust, his body raw and sensitive from the power of Viktor's words, and at the same time he lets his tail wander back into the man, squeezing into tight and sleek heat that clenches desperately around it. The tip of Eros' tail quivers, the very point nearly vibrating as it explores soft ridges. It curves and presses hard suddenly, massaging slowly, and Viktor chokes in the middle of a line, thrashing his hips so violently that Eros nearly flies off his lap.

Eros gasps sharply, feeling himself filled with a thick wetness that drips down and out of him, pooling on Viktor's twitching groin beneath him. Eros bends his head, a low moan tearing from his throat as he feels Viktor's power course through his body. He can feel himself grow stronger, yes, but he isn't satisfied -- in fact, he scrambles forward desperately, cupping Viktor's face in his hands and drawing his lips near.

" _No_ ," he whispers shakily, "not now, not yet."

He kisses him, frantic and wild, and a deep shudder runs from his tongue to Viktor's, making the man gasp and twitch madly. Eros feels himself weaken, feels the delicious energy that had just filled him seep away. But what he feels in return -- the hardness returning within him, rising to stretch deeper inside of him once more -- fills him with such relieved pleasure that he kisses Viktor harder, fingers in his hair and tugging as he begins to bounce again, rolling his hips with an intensity that robs the man of the breath Eros so eagerly sucks into himself as he draws away, panting against his lips.

" _More_."

Viktor's lips tremble, his eyes so glazed that Eros wonders if he'd understood. There doesn't seem to be much going on behind them. Mindless lust, the rapture of one pierced by an angel. Eros' tail rubs him faster, starting to slide in and out as it does, and Viktor makes a small strangled sound. Almost.

"Your pretty words, Your Grace," Eros breathes, watching his face eagerly.

" _Worthless are... my prayers and sighing,_ " Viktor croaks, speaking slowly between shuddering gasps. " _Y-yet, good Lord, in grace complying; rescue me f-from fires un-undying!_ " He cries out now as Eros' pace increases, body jerking again and again as he's consumed and pierced, giving and taking at once in a rhythm as harmonious as the sound of both their cries mingling.

" _Low I kneel, with heart's submission,_ " Viktor says in a low gurgle, and Eros smirks, putting a finger to his lips to silence him. He's skipped several verses.

"Try to focus, Viktor. You don't want to disappoint me, do you?" Eros straightens now, his pleasure mounting as he prepares his final stretch. He'll break this man, utterly and irreparably. He moves at speeds impossible, with nearly enough force to tear the man's cock from his body, his tail thrusting mercilessly, his claws coming down against Viktor's chest and shoulders wildly, leaving angry red scores.

" _That day of tears and mourning!_ " Viktor screams, throwing his head back with a heavy thud and convulsing, and Eros is thrilled to see tears streaming down his face. His jaw is slack, foaming and drooling, tongue lolling despite the words that try to pass from beyond his seizing throat.

" _Spare, O God, in mercy spare him!_ " Eros shouts, his own ecstasy approaching quickly, a power brimming unlike any he's ever known before. It tips like a chalice of wine, spilling unto him, the man below, the writhing and wailing mass of fevered flesh begging him, pleading with him for release.

He gives it to him, with one final blow of his tail and one final jerk of his hips, and he draws it from him. His power. His essence. It burns through him once more, and he cherishes it this time, continuing to slide up and down Viktor's slick cock as its strength finally ebbs into nothingness.

Eros withdraws his tail just as slowly, almost reluctantly leaving Viktor's tight heat. He draws back completely now, looking down at the nearly lifeless bishop with heavily sated glee.

" _Amen_ ," he whispers.

Viktor's face is pure and mindless bliss, complete and utter divinity reached within this hallowed chamber. His chest is still heaving hard, his breath coming in wracked sobs, nearly wheezes. Burning blue eyes, not quite focused, struggle to find Eros' own, blinking through tears. They watch him as he bends slowly, so very slowly, and before lips meet, they flutter closed.

Eros kisses him gently, although he isn't sure why. He's absorbed his energy already. In fact, he'd absorbed far more than he needed. Far more than he thought he could have ever held. He'd simply gotten up and left the last time, not even sparing the man a backwards glance as he went. And now he's here, pressing him into the plush rug as he runs his clawed fingers through his hair. His soft hair.

He's warm, Eros thinks. So warm. His body is warm, and it's intoxicating. Stupid, really, he thinks, flustered as large and firm hands come up to hold his waist, to think so much of a human's warmth. The fires of Hell were surely warmer. The holy trail marked down his chest had surely blazed hotter. The hymn the man had recited had surely burned him so thoroughly that no other flame could compare.

And yet. These lips are warm. These hands are warm.

Why?

He pulls away slowly, and the breath that ghosts against his lips is warm.

Viktor looks up at him as though he's something to be worshiped.

It's too much. Eros scrambles to his feet at once, refusing to meet the human's gaze as he focuses on getting his appearance in order. He can hear Viktor trying to sit up, and the small hisses of pain are almost enough to make a demon like him guilty. Almost.

"Wait."

Eros freezes, closing his eyes and willing himself to stop trembling. This weakness again. What is it? He doesn't speak, and after a short and terse silence, Viktor does.

"Where do you go?"

Eros turns at last, blinking at him in confusion.

"What?"

"When you leave. Where do you go?" There's something odd in his voice, something that Eros can't quite make sense of.

Eros isn't exactly sure what to say. What does he tell this human? That he reports back to Hell each night? Or that he wanders the darkened streets alone, looking for fresh souls to prey upon? Neither of these are true. In truth, he isn't sure where he goes. Not really. He may return to Hell whenever he likes, and he may wander this world at his leisure -- and at his risk. Eros isn't sure he does either very much. He often seems to fade, withdrawing into a place that's dark and cold. Yes, very dark. The absence of light. The absence of God. Dark. And very cold.

His eyes meet Viktor's.

The absence of warmth.

He feels that warmth rush to his face now without warning. Viktor is looking at him intently, and there's a power to his gaze despite his ravaged appearance. It's everything Eros can do not to shuffle awkwardly. This must be what draws out confessions from sinners. Holy men with eyes like Viktor's.

"Why does it matter? I go away, and that's all you need to know."

"Is there a Hell?" Viktor asks him, and Eros might have laughed had he not been so intrigued at the human's curiosity.

"Yes."

"And so," Viktor continues, his voice starting to shake but his eyes still steady, "Heaven must exist. God must exist."

Eros feels a stab of some peculiar emotion as he stares at Viktor blankly. The human is returning his stare eagerly, waiting for an answer he had most likely been looking for his entire life. How ridiculous of humans, to put such faith in something they aren't quite sure exists. To waste their precious time on Earth waiting for an answer they may not ever receive.

A man of God after all, Eros thinks a bit bitterly, looking down at him. What had he been expecting? For his faith to have been shaken? For him to forget the church, forget the saints, forget his Lord?

"I don't know," Eros says simply, trying not to wince at the man's crestfallen look. "I've never heard Him."

Viktor is quiet for a moment, seemingly lost in his thoughts, his eyes misty and faraway. He snaps back into focus as Eros turns to leave again.

"Wait!"

"I don't have answers," Eros says curtly. "I don't know what waits for humans beyond death, I don't know anything except that I am a demon and I must feed. What more do you want from me?"

"Please stay."

Eros doesn't want to turn around. He doesn't want to see those blue eyes, pleading for him not to go. Why? Why is Viktor saying this, and why is Eros so afraid?

"I want to know more about you," Viktor says quickly, sensing Eros' unease, "and I want to know why you first came here. And... will you keep returning?"

Eros gives in, turning just in time to see Viktor slowly getting to his feet, still very sore and defeated-looking. He leans against the stone pillars for support as he dresses, and Eros doesn't speak until he's finished, his eyes raking his body with a renewing hunger that he knows the man must sense. But he doesn't show it.

"You want to know more about me?" Eros asks, feeling sort of nervous. He isn't sure how much of himself is safe to reveal. Does he trust this man? He'd tried to kill him, after all. Tried to banish him, to wipe his existence from this plane. So why does Eros want to give in to his polite plea?

Viktor approaches, straightening his robes, and Eros has to resist the urge to dishevel him again. He stands still, inexplicably frozen in place as Viktor's hand comes up slowly to brush his hair back. Eros wants to bristle at this, at his forwardness, but he finds that he still can't move. The human's hand is too warm.

"I came here for your power," Eros says softly. "I came here because I needed your strength. The strength of someone ranked far above the ordinary. Something holy and incorruptible."

He smiles a bit now, fingers creeping up Viktor's chest. "Not that it took very long to corrupt you."

"You, er, I mean," Viktor starts, losing his composure as Eros' arms snake around his neck and pull him closer. "You're very... tempting."

"Should I feel honored?" Eros murmurs, lips grazing Viktor's finally. "Honored that my very first was a man so devout?"

Viktor says nothing, but Eros can sense him tensing. This man's faith has been on the brink for years, he realizes. Gaining power only means rising to the very top to find that there isn't anything up there waiting for you. How long had Viktor been waiting for someone to come along and break him? Free him, perhaps?

"Your first?" Viktor asks, and Eros freezes, taken by surprise. _Damn him._

"Yes," he says quickly, flushing brightly, "I... I mean, I had never corrupted anyone this way before. I had never taken anyone's power like this."

He's the one losing his composure now, and Viktor simply smiles and surprises him once more with a kiss. Eros returns it without thinking, pressing into him and hoping to feel something press back. He wants to be filled again. He wants to be filled by this man, always.

But Viktor pulls away, unshaken, and Eros finally understands the true meaning of torture. "It's late. I ought to go home."

"Home?" Eros frowns at him. The thought of Viktor anywhere but in the cathedral is too much to comprehend. He belongs here forever, as melded into the architecture as the many perfect and holy statues.

"Yes," Viktor says, smiling lightly as he turns back towards the gates of the crypt. "I live in a house, you know. You ought to visit me there instead of coming in and disrupting my chapel."

Eros stares after him, dumbstruck. He can take him, he tells himself. He can take this human, this weak mortal, and he can keep him. But he doesn't. He only watches his retreating figure.

It takes Eros a few moments before he realizes that he should follow. It's very dark within the crypt, and he can feel too many watchful eyes on him.

Dark and cold.

An absence, he thinks, watching Viktor fade into the distance.

*

The room is quiet and still, but the hearth fire flickers wildly, as though in a breeze, and Viktor looks up wearily from his seat. He had just collapsed into the armchair in his room after trudging through the door, his legs aching and his heart heavy. That heart lifts immediately, starting to pound wildly as a hush seems to fall over the already silent room.

He wants to call out. He wants to invite something in, but that would require acknowledging its existence in the first place. And, despite Viktor's seemingly easy acceptance of what had happened to him, he's been struggling with his sanity every day.

No, he amends, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. Not sanity.

Faith.

What does he believe? And does it matter?

Unwelcome images of his past flash across his mind, of his days of dishonesty, of vice and sin. He had been so full of life. So eager to explore everything this world had to offer. And several things it didn't.

He doesn't dare eye the large oak chest in the corner of his room. He keeps it there, untouched but still with him. Temptation. Books containing things no man of God ought to go anywhere near. But his mind wanders the path his eyes refuse, and pages of script come to mind. Incantations. Forbidden knowledge. Power.

Demons.

When he opens his eyes, Eros stands before him. 

There's a fierce determination burning in the demon's eyes. He's nervous, Viktor realizes suddenly. Eros is nervous, but his gaze tries to compensate with its intensity. He's made no attempts to hide his horns and his ears, and Viktor can see his claws unfurl as he unclenches his fists. Viktor finally notices his clothing, and sees that he's dressed very ordinarily. No need to impersonate a priest here. No need to even impersonate a human.

Viktor waits patiently, hoping that Eros will be the first to speak. The demon seems to be waiting for him to do the same.

"You invited me in," Eros says at last. It isn't a question, but it isn't quite a statement either. Viktor hears the uncertainty behind it.

"Yes," he says simply, with a small shrug.

"You told me that I ought to visit your home," Eros blurts, reddening. "Y-you told me this last time. In the crypt."

"Yes," Viktor repeats, leaning back in his chair with what he hopes is nonchalance. His heart is racing too fast for him to truly sit still. "And you didn't. Not the next week. Not the week after."

His unspoken question -- _why?_ \-- lingers in the air, and it takes Eros several moments to answer it. He clenches his fists again, and he can't meet Viktor's gaze anymore.

"I don't understand," Eros says, frowning. "I don't understand why I want to return. I would -- I would be here every night, if I could."

"Can't you?" Viktor prompts him gently, intrigued.

"I've never..." Eros trails off, seemingly dazed. He continues to frown at nothing.

Viktor rises and approaches slowly, as though nearing a wild animal. Eros doesn't look up until he's directly in front of him. Close enough to touch.

Whatever unease had been burdening the demon so far seems to slip away now, and Viktor sees the familiar cunning return to his eyes. Eros steps into him, leaning up to run his fingers through his hair. Their bodies fit together like missing pieces, far too smoothly, and Viktor lets out a shaky exhale as Eros leans forward to whisper into his ear.

"None of this matters. I know why you want me. And you know why I want you. Let's not waste any time."

Viktor can't suppress the low groan in his throat when warm lips press against his. He's missed them badly. They slide so easily, slick and soft, and Viktor sucks on them lightly, drawing small gasps from the creature now held tight in his arms. Viktor's hands start to wander along his chest, and when they slip underneath his shirt, he suddenly feels too much skin against him all at once. He pulls away gasping to see that Eros' clothes have disappeared, and his heart beats in his throat when he sees his tail uncurl. That tail. Something about it never fails to drive any and all thought from his mind. 

"That's your favorite, isn't it?" Eros murmurs playfully. His tail curves nearer, only to flick away teasingly when Viktor tries to grasp it.

But Viktor's quick, his hand dropping low and sliding towards the small of Eros' back. His fingers trace the heated skin lightly, ghosting lower, lower, and when they finally wrap around the base of Eros' tail, the demon jerks his hips, gasping sharply. A sound that melts into a soft moan as Viktor's hand travels the length of the twitching tail, and it twitches even harder now, live in his hand when his fist finally squeezes the arrowed tip. He brushes a thumb across the very point, and Eros shudders against him, his breath coming in quick bursts as he presses closer.

Viktor starts to guide him towards the bed, but Eros slips out of his grasp, playful as ever as he tumbles onto it, rolling onto his hands and knees. He throws Viktor a mischievous look over his shoulder, spreading his legs and presenting himself, tail held high.

"Please?" he purrs, wiggling his hips, and Viktor nearly trips trying to get undressed, his eyes never leaving Eros' hole, watching it begin to drip. Eros' cock follows suit, hanging between his legs so very invitingly, and Viktor has only just yanked off his shirt and pulled down his trousers before he gives in. The sight of Eros surrendering to him so easily is too much to resist.

Eros' thighs are soft and already slick with sweat as Viktor parts them further, and his waist seems to shrink beneath his large hands, so fragile, so easy to squeeze and nearly break. His skin is fire, and Viktor has the irrational and daring urge to burn, to let the flames consume him.

It takes every last ounce of his willpower not to tip the moment he enters him. His cock is swallowed almost greedily, the strength sapped from it, and Viktor now has the thrilling knowledge that Eros is feeding off him. Absorbing his energy. He'll give him everything he has to offer. He'll give him anything he desires.

He groans as Eros pushes back onto him eagerly, grabbing his waist harder to steady him. The tail swishing madly in front of him seizes for a moment, going rigid as Viktor grips it hard at the base. It falls limp soon after, and Eros cries out as Viktor yanks hard, pulling him up closer. With one hand still firmly gripping his waist, Viktor begins to thrust, gritting his teeth at the slick sliding sensation he'd missed far too desperately. The feel of Eros squeezing around him has him dizzy, and he holds on tighter, feeling his strength ebbing rapidly.

"Harder," Eros begs, squirming impatiently, and Viktor gives it to him, all of him, every last inch and every last ounce of strength, thrusting until the bed begins to creak, pumping the base of Eros' tail in time. Eros claws at the sheets madly, the sound of ripping fabric tearing throughout the room, and Viktor suddenly wants that to be his skin.

Eros whines in protest when he pulls away, but Viktor flips him over and presses down onto him immediately, guiding himself in once more to pound Eros into the mattress. Eros throws his head back and screams, and Viktor feels sharp claws rake against the backs of his shoulders. The pain sends a tingling rush through him so strong that it's everything he can do not to faint, hanging his head low as long and blackened nails scrabble wildly for purchase. They come down again and again, surely shredding his skin, the blood already trickling down his sides, but Viktor doesn't want it to stop. He never wants it to stop.

But when he lifts his head again, he freezes.

Eros is crying.

He's crying, his lips trembling as he looks up at Viktor with a sorrow so great that Viktor feels his chest tighten, his breath being taken away. Can the demon do that as well? Steal the very air from his lungs with single tearful look?

"Eros?"

"Why?" Eros whispers, red eyes burning as they search his. "Why do you let me do this?"

Viktor stares at him, uncomprehending.

"Why do you let me do this to you," Eros continues, voice shaking slightly. "Why do you let me take you so easily? I was told it would be difficult. That I would have to take it. To steal it. To hurt you. But you give it to me willingly. Why?"

Viktor doesn't have an answer. Not one that makes any sense, anyhow. He looks down at Eros, at this demon beneath him, and he sees a sort of innocence that he's hardly even seen in some humans. Something about this demon makes Viktor want to give up everything, to surrender to him entirely, to sate him. To satisfy him. To protect him.

"If you do truly know of my past," Viktor begins softly, "then you'll know of my sins, of the things I have done and the things I had once believed in."

Eros watches him carefully. His tears have stopped.

"Demons."

"Yes. And the day I joined the faith, the day my slate was wiped clean. The day I began anew. It was," he pauses, frowning. "It was emptiness. I had thought that the absence of one faith meant the presence of another. But I was wrong."

He's uncomfortably aware that he's still inside Eros, but neither of them has made to pull away completely. Viktor can feel a strange power thrumming between them where they're connected, as though Eros were still feeding on him, but only enough to make them equal.

"I've spent years following a faith with no proof of God. And yet here you are, proof that something else exists. Something that excites me. If that makes me worthy of Hell, then so be it. Perhaps Hell is all there is, in the end."

Eros looks up at him in awe, eyes widening. His lips are trembling again. Viktor brushes a thumb over them delicately.

"If there's one thing I do believe, it's that all things happen for a reason. And you are my reason, Eros."

If Eros understands, he doesn't show much sign of it. There's an air of confusion and doubt, but something starts to overpower it. A steadily growing sense of determination. A hand reaches up tentatively, and Viktor notices that it's no longer clawed. In fact, Eros' horns have retracted as well, his ears shaped as ordinarily as Viktor's own, and his teeth are no longer like the tips of gleaming knives. There's no playful tail wrapped around him. Only Eros' hand, warm against his stinging back. His bleeding back.

Eros takes that same hand back now, licking the smears of blood from his fingertips. His voice is hushed and revered when he speaks, as though he were kneeling before the high altar, supplicating beneath the likeness of a saint.

"I've taken your Body and your Blood into me. If..." he trails off, hand reaching for Viktor's face now, cupping his cheek with a new sort of tenderness. "If there is no God, then... will you be my God, Viktor?"

Viktor is stunned, jaw slack as he gapes at him. What exactly is Eros asking of him? And how can he grant that desire as quickly as possible? Is it even possible?

Eros' eyes are a warm brown in the fire light, his smile uncertain but soft, with only the slightest trace of its earlier wickedness. The hand against his cheek is warm, filling the void, the absence, the emptiness that had held Viktor cold and captive for so long.

This isn't right. But, Viktor thinks, leaning into Eros' palm, perhaps it isn't wrong, either.

"Day of wrath," Viktor mumbles, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth when Eros blinks at him in confusion. "That's what awaits us, if God does exist."

"To Hell with Him," Eros says sweetly, then immediately looks nervous, and Viktor grins against his lips as he captures them in a slow and searching kiss.

As he moves within him, as their cries ring out, as the power between them ebbs and flows, Viktor's faith has never been stronger. The only thing he believes in now is the Light.


End file.
